Station DD-7, orbiting the jungle-covered gem Shuazhar, was an old, outdated maintenance outpost built during Palpatine's resurrection. Daala mainly used it as a retreat during her planning or just to get away from her Dominion and its men. For the last few years, though, she used for a different purpose. Meetings between her and the leaders of her new allies now took place on it. It provided a secluded environment which, though the smell was a little obtrusive, was practically perfect for secret meetings of the kind Daala liked.

Now it looked just as it did last time Daala saw it, as it passed into the conference chamber's view. "A few hours ago, you asked how do we not get caught cutting across the galaxy." Daala gestured to the Neimoidian who was sitting in a chair next to her, who seemed to have been the focus of many of the Moffs. "Answering that question should be simple, and here to do it is Governor Mindar Highla, master and commander of the Confederacy of Independent Systems."

Highla stood up as Daala stepped aside. A murmur rippled throughout the table, except for the three women. They had known Highla as long as Daala had. The rest of the Moffs looked completely confused. The younger Moffs, who had only heard of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, looked somewhere between confused and intrigued by Highla. The older Moffs, who some had been alive when the Confederacy had been formed nearly fifty years ago during the steady downfall of the Old Republic, gave a look of caution and suspicion to the Neimoidian.

One of them, Moff Whrrlyoop, a Wookie and the only non-human of the Assembly, couldn't hide his curiosity and suspicion. He growled a sentence. "The Separatists?" came the translation from the C-3PO protocol droid standing in the corner opposite Daala.

Highla shot Whrrlyoop a glare.

The three-hundred-year-old Whrrlyoop had been on the Republic Senate during the Clone Wars against the Confederacy. He had fiercely supported the Military Creation Act and the Clone army itself. He had fought in three major battles during the Wars and was decorated as a hero by many of the worlds of the Republic, including his own Kashyyyk. When Palpatine overthrew the Republic and established his New Order, most of the peace-preaching Senators, and the Wookie homeworld Kashyyyk, were shocked to find Whrrlyoop fully supporting Palpatine's policies and promises. Many abandoned the Wookie when he, like Palpatine, praised the Ghorman Massacre, the event when then-Captain Tarkin had callously landed his personal starship on top on thousands of anti-tax demonstrators on the planet Ghorman. Hundreds were killed in the Massacre. Later, to show his loyalty to Palpatine, and save his own skin from the Emperors anti-alien policies, Whrrlyoop had been one of the men responsible for turning over Kashyyyk to the Empire and the Wookies to slavery. Ever since the end of Palpatine, the Wookie had remained in hiding in the Deep Core until after Daala murdered Teradoc, in which he appeared again and, after proving himself worthy to Daala by murdering his own traitorous grandson, was promoted to Moff and given the Yergi sector to govern.

"That is not our name, Wookie!" Highla spat.

Whrrlyoop stood up from the other end of the table and snarled loudly at the Neimoidian.

Daala held a flat palm towards the protocol droid, stopping him from translating. She then turned her attention to the Wookie. "No name-calling," she said sternly. "We're all grown ups here."

Whrrlyoop expression darkened, but he nevertheless sat back down.

Daala put a hand on Highla's shoulder, reluctantly. "Easy. Calm down. It won't happen again." She took a step forward. "What Moff Whrrlyoop said was the common name for the Confederacy under the Jedi Count Dooku. It is a name that the Confederacy will not tolerate." She smiled. "Now, Governor Highla will explain phase two of my plan. Governor."

Daala stepped back as Highla stepped forward. The Neimoidian clasped his hands together as he spoke. "My military is battle ready and standing by at the edge of what you call the Unknown Regions. When Admiral Daala's force eliminates the bases at Resad and Wullund, she will continue on towards Kamino. At which time she exits the Core worlds and enters the Colonies Region is the time that military forces under my command will move to strike Alliance fleets and shipyards at Fondor and Chundre. However, it will only be a feint We are hoping that the feint will draw most of the Alliance's attention to my fleet and away from Admiral Daala's armada."

"What about the Jedi

Whrrlyoop, still agitated from Highla, nodded curtly. "Well that's the trick isn't it," he barked as the 3PO droid translated. "Is your fleet up to the job. Or better yet, is it even large enough?"

Highla snickered. "Yes, it is large enough. It could crush your fleet down to a pulp." Whrrlyoop growled a warning as the Neimoidian stepped up to the blank wall monitor. "Right now a majority of it is stationed at my headquarters, waiting for the order to strike," he smiled widely at Daala. His finger pressed a button on the wall panel, and the monitor thrummed to life. A rocky-looking green-gray and blue planet appeared. But its color could barely be determined visually. The world was surrounded by a unbelievably large fleet of granite-gray, triangular capital starships that suspiciously resembled Imperial Star Destroyers. Hundred upon thousands of the wedge-shaped ships were in slow near and far orbits of the distant planet, like an orbital traffic jam. Mixed amongst them was one other type of Star Destroyer-type ship, only it was shaded in a bright gray, like that of an actual Star Destroyer. And it was half-as-large as the as the other ships. The image was frozen in place, showing also tiny starfighters flying drills in almost pocket of space they could find. The fighters were two small to be seen as to their class. It was a mystery fleet, unlike anything the Moff Assembly had ever seen. Except for the designs of those capital ships.

Moff Talpoldar stood up. He was formerly an assistant to Walex Blissex, a former Imperial agent of research and development who defected to the Rebel Alliance early in the Galactic Civil War. Blissex had designed the Imperial-class Star Destroyer, and his notes and blueprints had long ago fallen into the hands of Talpoldar. "Those are the old Star Destroyers." His eyes passively fell on Daala. "The predecessors of the Victory-class. I recognize them from Blissex's notes. They're old designs. Blissex created them towards the end of the Clone Wars for the Old Republic."

"Yes," Highla answered quickly. "But we stole the designs after we were banished. We planned to return with a force great enough to route the Republic and its clone army."

Whrrlyoop exposed his fangs and gave a low hiss, followed by a short bark. "The Sevven Outpost Crisis." He slammed two angry fists on the tabletop. "One of the most ridiculous political debacles I have ever seen. You caused it?"

Highla chuckled. "Yes. If the Republic had not banished us, it would not have happened."

Inside, Daala rolled her eyes in disgust. They were about to be at it again. She didn't know much about the Sevven Outpost Crisis. It had something to do with a minor star sector that had wanted to ally themselves with the Republic after the Clone Wars. Someway or another, probably by Palpatine's will, the sector ended up with the responsibility of guarding and transporting the blueprints for those primitive Confederacy Star Destroyers. They failed when the prints were stolen by the Confederacy. A distress signal had been transmitted. But no ships, not even a Republic Dreadnaught that was only a few minutes away, answered until two hours after the ship had been raided and destroyed. The Crisis caused a major stir in the Imperial Senate, especially when it was discovered that Vice Chancellor Mas Ammeda had been part of the cover-up. The Vice Chancellor was immediately removed from office by Palpatine. Daala considered the matter unimportant, just another one of the many stepping stone events Palpatine had used to achieve absolute power.

"You can't be sure of your feint's success," Moff Corls said matter-of-fact. "Your ships are pointed out to be primitive."

"Strength in numbers always prevails," Highla answered.

Corls laughed. "That's what a lot of people have said in the past. Maybe in the Unknown Regions, Governor. In the Alliance-ruled galaxy, that strategy is a completely different story. We've tried it dozens of times. It doesn't work."

Highla took three strong steps up to Corls. "Yes, it didn't work for you," Highla responded blandly. "That's because your fleets didn't have 976,569 ships in it, did they?"

Corls looked smug. "No."

Highla smiled widely, satisfied. "Do not taunt my navy, human. It can hold its own. It may be primitive, but that does not mean that it is weak." He started back for the monitor. "My fleet can and will do the job, and do the job–" he stopped in mid-stride and mid-sentence. His face was staring at the monitor, lost in a distant world that no else knew or could see. And it worried him. "Well," he finished, speaking the word slowly and with soft terror.

The whole room murmured, all eyes locked, in puzzle and suspicion, on the Neimoidian. The ugly, fleshy-faced alien stood still for only a few moments longer, then quickly went to his seat and sat down, staring at the floor with distant eyes.

Daala scowled at him in her mind. What is that idiot Neimoidian doing now? Moping? Men are so weak. She sighed and stamped her foot loudly, drawing the Assembly's attention to her. "We know, Governor, and on behalf of the Assembly, I thank you for your support and your services."

He didn't look up.

Moff Worfin decided to take a chance on the awkward silence. "What about the Jedi?" he asked, almost nervously as if Luke Skywalker was standing in the shadows waiting to strike.

Once again, though, his voice was drowned underneath Tethys's own deep voice. "What base will strike first with our new clone army?"

Daala activated the monitor. Her jabbed a pointer at a spot on the Corellian Run hyperspace lane that encompassed another one of Daala's tags, this time marking Rodia, homeworld of the green-snouted Rodians.

"Hit-and-run strikes on supply bases and refugee camps along the Middle and Outer Rim. The point is to grab the Alliance's attention. Rodia houses a major refugee camp, one of the top three in the Mid-Rim."

"Admiral Daala–" Warlord Brill tried to interrupt.

"Wait until I am finished, Brill," Daala snapped, her rage spiking. "Now," she said quickly, "From Rodia, the fleet will spread out and hit other smaller supply bases and refugee camps using, as I said earlier, hit-and-run tactics. Luckily for us, the Alliance has hundreds of bases practically within walking distance of each other."

"If I may–" Brill started again.

Daala silenced him with a glare, rage building slightly. Then, she calmly said, "You may."

"Why do want to grab the Alliance's attention? I thought that was the Confederacy's job." "Our part is to try and draw attention away from them. Give the Alliance a huge decision of who to go after, us or them."

"But what about the Jedi?" Worfin asked again, slightly louder this time.

Again, he was overshadowed, this time by Joffandor, who was still bleeding slightly and in much pain from his castration, even now. "But Admiral Daala, we're going after refugee's, innocent bystanders, to the Alliance. They'll come after us first, no matter what."

"And what about the bigger bases?" asked Corls. "Shouldn't we focus on those? That would surely grab the Alliance's attention, not that we would want it?"

"Shut up, all of you!" Daala screeched, her rage now rising rapidly. Her face turned red, but she knew she couldn't show her weakness again, especially here. "I have special plans for the major bases, plans I'm not revealing at this time, but I do have them. And they will work." She glared all around the table, looking each Moff and Warlord in the eyes, being as intimidating as she could. "Understand?"

A sturdy "Yes, ma'am" followed from everyone.

"Good."

Worfin stood up strongly. "But what about the Jedi?" he yelled at the top of his lungs. A dead silence followed. "What do we do about them?"